


i am no orpheus

by bipercabeth



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Major Character Undeath, meaning i yeet AND THEN INSTANTLY UNYEET a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipercabeth/pseuds/bipercabeth
Summary: Hubris and loyalty. Fatal.When Percy and Annabeth’s wars are won and the prophecies are about other people, it’s almost easy to forget. Hubris becomes Annabeth refusing to admit she’s wrong. Loyalty becomes Percy’s tendency to put the needs of others before his own. Peace lulls memory into rest, slowing the mind and the heart until they are fickle things. Peace itself is a fickle thing.They still train—they are still demigods. War is in their blood, running through their veins alongside humanity and divinity. It’s never over.(in which i do kill a character but nobody DIES)
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 383





	i am no orpheus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [random_hallucinations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_hallucinations/gifts).



> I recommend reading with [this in the background](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVKEM4K8J8A) if you want some ambiance!

Hubris and loyalty. Fatal. 

When Percy and Annabeth’s wars are won and the prophecies are about other people, it’s almost easy to forget. Hubris becomes Annabeth refusing to admit she’s wrong. Loyalty becomes Percy’s tendency to put the needs of others before his own. Peace lulls memory into rest, slowing the mind and the heart until they are fickle things. Peace itself is a fickle thing. 

They still train—they are still demigods. War is in their blood, running through their veins alongside humanity and divinity. It’s never over.

Cold rain pelts Annabeth’s skin, soaking through her t-shirt and jean shorts. Her boots slip in the mud as she hauls a petrified fourteen-year-old girl toward Half-Blood Hill, brandishing her Drakon-bone sword to ward off the hellhounds in the surrounding woods. Their presence is scarce save a muddy paw print or a pair of gleaming red eyes in the treeline. 

It’s not the hellhounds Annabeth is afraid of; she’s killed more of them than she cares to count. It’s the reason the hellhounds won’t move in, the looming figure shaking the slick earth with heavy footfalls. 

Annabeth keeps running, trusting Percy to watch her back and keep the kid’s satyr on two hooves. The younger pair are worse for wear, littered with wounds from weeks on the run. The last of Annabeth’s emergency ambrosia went to the kid, Casey, a mile or two ago—long enough for her to recover the strength to run, but not enough to fight. She doesn’t even have a weapon. 

The satyr is young too, about the same age as Grover when he and Annabeth first met. He too had the unfortunate fate of happening across a prophecy kid he was never equipped to protect. 

Shadows melt and twist as they run, an inkblot test of what horrors a panicked mind can conjure. Canines glint in Annabeth’s periphery, and a sword can only do so much. Casey stumbles and cries out as teeth graze her arm. Annabeth leaves her left side undefended to slash at the beast, a mistake she pays for when fangs sink into her shoulder.

The hellhound dies before pain even registers. Annabeth tugs Casey to her feet and glances at Percy, who carries the now-unconscious satyr over his shoulder and brandishes Riptide in his opposite hand. Yet Riptide is streaked with water, not blood or monster dust. 

Water may blind Annabeth, but it rejuvenates Percy. With his green eyes reflecting each flash of lightning and his strong silhouette outlined against the night sky, he looks every inch his father’s son. Earthshaker. Stormbringer. Son of the Sea God.

Annabeth ignores the searing pain in her shoulder and sets forward again. There will be time to heal on the other side of Half-Blood Hill. Now there is only survival, only movement. 

Thunder shakes the ground, chased by a sinister roar hot on its heels—not nature, but monster. 

“We’re not going to shake him in time!” Annabeth warns. Casey tenses, but Percy is at their side in an instant, pulling her under his arm and veering off the path. He doesn’t have to say anything for Annabeth to follow. 

They run into a clearing Annabeth recognizes, at least another mile from camp. If they have to stand their ground, this isn’t the worst place to do it. Without the trees to cast long shadows, the hellhounds don’t dare cross the treeline. 

Percy sets the satyr down in the shelter of some rocks and beckons Casey over. Annabeth keeps watch while he kneels to her level. 

The teen’s voice is panicked. “My powers—I can’t control them, but if I’m in danger, maybe they’ll—”

“Hey.” Annabeth’s eyes are fixed on the woods, but the fierce softness only Percy can speak with carries over the rain. “Your only job is to stay with your friend and let us protect you, okay?” 

“Huck, my friend, told me there’s a prophecy—that I’m a hero. I have to fight.” 

“You’re not a hero yet. You’re a kid.” His voice is muffled when he speaks. Annabeth thinks they’re hugging. “Your friend mention who we are?”

“Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase. You guys saved Olympus twice.” 

The trees rattle.

“Percy…” Annabeth warns. She raises her sword. 

“Stay low. Let us handle the rest. You need anything, you call for us, okay?” 

Annabeth glimpses Percy wearing that brave face he puts on for kids with his hands on Casey’s shoulders. Between their skin glowing bronze in Riptide’s light and their dark hair rain-slick, they could be father and daughter. The thought knocks the wind out of Annabeth. 

Percy’s brave face melts away as he hurries to Annabeth’s side. They are past needing bravery from each other; all they ask for now is to stay together. 

Rain pours down his face, healing his wounds and leaving him with an almost godly glow. Bloodied and muddied beside him, Annabeth is reminded of when he bore the Curse of Achilles. Guilt flashes in his eyes as they scan her wounds, the same as it did then.

He counts the seconds as he raises his fingers to his mouth, his eyes training on the treeline. _Three… two…_ His best NYC cab whistle pierces the air. 

Lightning strikes as the monster bursts through the trees, flattening the proud pines. Percy and Annabeth roll opposite ways to divide his attention. 

“Holy fuck, is that the Min—” 

“Don’t say his name,” Percy warns, slashing at a hellhound that crept too close. “But yeah, that’s old Beef Head himself. Be glad he changed out of his tighty whities.” 

The Minotaur’s charge carries him to the edge of the clearing, bulldozing several trees on the way. His Omega-shaped axe is aloft, apparently repaired from his last run-in with Percy. Camp necklaces still adorn the handle. Annabeth wants to rip his horns off with her bare hands.

She hasn’t seen the Minotaur since just before she was stabbed during the Battle of Manhattan. Blood trickles down her same shoulder, a reminder of the knife she took that day. 

Adrenaline drives her forward, making a show to draw his attention from Percy, who is busy with two hellhounds. “Hey ugly!” 

The Minotaur charges, his horns low and axe ready. Annabeth takes a calculated risk and rolls between his legs, slashing his calf and coming up on her feet. 

“Nice one, babe!” Percy calls. 

With both adults occupied, a few smaller hellhounds make a break for Casey and Huck. Annabeth breaks into a sprint, Minotaur forgotten, and intercepts them. 

As expected, Percy has dealt with his own hellhounds and moves to take up Annabeth’s abandoned position. “Personally, I’m starting to think you just wanted me to see you in your underwear,” he says. Annabeth hears the whoosh of the Minotaur’s axe. “Hate to break it to you, but I’ve got a fiancé.” 

Casey shrieks as a hellhound makes it past Annabeth’s guard. Before either can act, Riptide plunges into its eye, burying to the hilt before the monster turns to dust. Annabeth stabs hellhound after hellhound, her shoulder screaming with the effort, but the shadows replace each one she kills. 

A whinny overhead nearly distracts Annabeth from blocking what would’ve been a kill shot. As it is, the hellhound only manages to swipe its claws down her thigh. That’s fine. It’s not like she needs her legs. 

A black hoof knocks the creature off, giving Annabeth a chance to scramble upright and finish it. 

Blackjack circles above, offering aerial aid. His wings beat fast in the rain, sending gusts of wind in Annabeth’s direction. 

“You’re late!” Percy yells across the clearing. The Minotaur roars. Blackjack whinnies in protest. “Give me a second, yeah? I’m working on it.” 

Out of the corner of Annabeth’s eye, she sees Percy weaving in and out of the Minotaur’s guard, lashing out with controlled streams of water. He forces the bull to the forest, then turns his attention to the hellhounds. 

Annabeth stabs the closest three while Percy makes a wall of water to force back the others, sealing the clearing in like a dam. Even from across it, Annabeth sees the tendons straining in his hands and neck as he holds the monsters at bay. 

Blackjack lands in front of Casey and Huck, snapping Annabeth into action. Together they haul Huck onto the pegasus, and Annabeth gives Casey a leg up. 

“Okay, you’re going to hold on here—” she fists Casey’s hands in Blackjack’s mane — “and squeeze with your legs. He’s Percy’s pegasus, and he won’t let you fall. He’ll take you to camp, and you let him come back for us, okay?” 

Huck slumps forward against Blackjack’s neck and slips down his shoulder despite Blackjack and Casey’s best efforts to keep him up. Tears stream down Casey’s face, frantic and guttural. 

“I can’t hold him, Annabeth.” 

Annabeth looks at Percy, whose jaw is set. That’s when it clicks. 

He’s not planning on coming with them. 

“Percy—” 

“Blackjack can’t hold four people,” he says, anticipating the argument. “I can hold my own until you come back. I’ve survived worse.”

Annabeth has been here before: a stormy night in the woods near camp while her best friend risks their life to save the group. Percy always was too much like Thalia. 

He’s nearly her spitting image—arms shaking with effort, eyes ablaze like he won’t take no for an answer. 

“Annabeth,” Casey sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t hold him.” 

Annabeth swallows her dread. “It’s okay, Casey. Scoot back, I’m coming with you.” 

Blackjack huffs with the effort of holding three people and walks forward on shaky legs. His great wings batter the grass as he gallops across the field, using the length of it as a runway. They pass by Percy just close enough for Annabeth to hear him say “I love you” before takeoff. 

The words have never hurt to hear before. 

The slip of Blackjack’s wet coat threatens to unseat Annabeth as they battle wind and sideways rain. Casey’s arms are tight around Annabeth’s waist, her face pressed between Annabeth’s shoulder blades. Her grip makes it harder to hold on to Huck, who is little more than a rag doll in the torrential conditions, but Annabeth doesn’t have the heart to tell her to ease up. In fact, she can’t say anything. Her mind is on the forest floor with Percy. 

He _has_ survived worse, but always with Annabeth by his side. Despite her faith in his abilities and the knowledge that this was the only choice, her heart hangs in her rib cage like an anvil.

Thalia’s pine acts as a lighthouse, guiding the lost ship of demigods to shore. The moment they cross the camp border, the rain stops, leaving them almost weightless in the sky. 

Casey jumps off the moment Blackjack’s hooves touch the ground. Determination sets in the lines of her young face as she tries to single-handedly pull Huck off, which only sends the two of them sprawling. 

Annabeth almost swings down to help, but Casey musters her fourteen years of attitude to glare at her. “I got this. Go get him.” 

Blackjack doesn’t wait for Annabeth’s signal before taking off with one fell swoop of his powerful wings, nearly as stubbornly loyal as Percy. Annabeth stays low, trusting Blackjack, and the two fly like an arrow from the bow of Artemis herself. 

The clearing comes into view much faster without the weight of two additional bodies. Annabeth spots Percy in the eye of a personal hurricane—smaller than the one from the Battle of Manhattan, but a hurricane all the same. Hellhounds test the edges only to vaporize on the spot. Only the Minotaur breaks the line.

“Thank you,” Annabeth sighs against Blackjack’s neck, unable to tell the difference between rain and tears of relief. “Take me to him and get out. One of us will signal when it’s over.” 

The pegasus nickers nervously, and though Annabeth can’t talk to him, she almost smiles at the thought of Percy’s deep imitation of a Brooklyn accent. _You got it, Lady Boss._

Blackjack tucks his wings and dives for Percy, pausing for Annabeth to leap the final feet to the ground before he returns to the sky. 

The Minotaur swipes at her while she’s vulnerable, but Percy has her back. He lunges for the beast’s forearm, earning blood and a roar that echoes in Annabeth’s bones. 

Splinters of the Minotaur’s axe litter the ground, the twin blades in the grass several feet away, and Annabeth is glad it’s gone. It’s all she and Percy can do to keep moving in such close quarters, keep slashing and hacking as Greeks do. There is no time to stand their ground, only to sink or swim. 

Bless the water. It aids Annabeth, a subconscious awareness on Percy’s behalf that leaves her feeling stronger. They fight in the eye of the storm like the chasing winds that create it: two halves of one force of nature. 

Still, they tire. Adrenaline and divine gifts only hold out so long under such conditions. They are still half human. She sees it on Percy’s face, in the grit of his teeth when a hellhound tests his wall of water. Nobody can do this forever. 

Annabeth circles behind the Minotaur to pin it between herself and Percy before a hellhound slips through the barrier, its jaws closing around Percy’s sword arm. He kills it with his powers, but the damage is done. 

The Minotaur lowers his mighty head at Annabeth, uncaring of her sword lodging in his thigh. He takes the blade with him for the final charge. 

Annabeth braces herself for an impact that doesn’t come. 

Instead it’s Percy’s body slamming into hers, sending her sprawling just in time to watch him take the blow meant for her. The Minotaur catches him in the stomach, finally making good on his revenge. 

The hurricane sputters, and a hellhound dashes at Percy. Riptide isn’t as deadly in his left hand, but it gets the job done. 

All around them, the water stills. Annabeth hits the ground the moment she realizes what’s happening. 

Shards of ice fly out from Percy like a ripple, taking out the hundreds of hellhounds and angering the Minotaur. For a moment, Annabeth is almost convinced he’ll rise, reborn from the rain. 

But he doesn’t get up. 

Rage blurs Annabeth’s vision as she rises from the ground, each step rattling her spine as the world spins on its axis. It’s a physical reaction in her chest, pumping through her system with fury she’s never felt. 

She picks Riptide up from the wet earth and charges the Minotaur alone, grief tearing its way from her throat like a sinister siren song, crying out for what she longs for most. Her legs carry her forward, wounds forgotten. 

Not forgotten, she realizes as she slides through the mud and slashes the monster’s leg. _Healed_. Water kisses her skin, knitting her wounds together and filling her with strength. Her skin glows green, and though she doesn’t look up, she knows there’s a trident glowing above her. _Avenge him,_ the storm screams.

The Minotaur staggers, his hooves slipping in the mud before he rights himself. Annabeth could end it with one swift blow.

But he took away her world, so she’s going to be slow about ending his. 

She becomes a tornado, a hurricane, a storm personified. She is the daughter of wisdom, beloved by the sea. She is a tsunami, a wave of destruction. 

When at last he falls to his knees, Annabeth stalks forward with her head high, tears and rain streaking her face alike. Riptide falls to the ground, abandoned. This monster doesn’t deserve his blade. 

She leaps on the Minotaur’s back, plants her feet, and pulls. One horn clatters to the ground. He bellows—a low, mourning sound. It’s nothing he hasn’t lost before. It’s not enough. 

She tears the second one from him and leaps down with it. His red eyes burn when he looks at her, defeated. 

Annabeth sinks his own horn into his chest slowly, letting him feel every inch of her grief. It carves its way through his heart like it does her own. He falls too soon. 

She sprints to Percy’s side, collapsing in the grass beside him. The water has healed as much as it can, but the wound is deep and the rain only falls so fast. That plus his final blow to the hellhounds took more than he had. 

His breath stutters, a sickening sound thick with blood. Annabeth muffles a sob in her hand. 

“Hey.” She brushes his hair from his forehead. “Look at me. Eyes on me.” 

He does, looking dazed as he takes in the lingering glow and trident. “Always knew Dad liked you,” he says, his lips tugging up before he cuts off with a rattling cough. 

Blackjack lands on the ground a few feet away, his ears flat and head low. Annabeth moves to cover Percy’s body with her own. 

“Go get help,” she tells him, her voice hoarse. 

“No.” Percy holds out his uninjured hand, which Blackjack carefully rests his nose in. A moment passes between the two: sorrow, respect, understanding. “Take care of her,” he manages. 

“Percy…” Annabeth’s breath hitches. “He won’t have to. You’re staying with me, okay? You’re it for me, so I’m gonna need you to keep fighting.” She turns back to Blackjack. “Go to camp. Get help.” 

Blackjack hesitates, still looking at Percy.

“It’s okay. Go,” he says. 

The pegasus takes off into the night. 

Percy’s breaths go shallow, and Annabeth has watched enough people die to know what comes next. 

“I love you,” she says, leaning down to touch foreheads. “Please— Please don’t leave me here alone. You’re going to be okay. Please stay.” 

“I’ll be here,” he says, reaching feebly up to her temple, “in that beautiful brain.” His hand slips to her heart. “Here too. You’ll be okay. I love you. More than anything.” 

Annabeth presses their lips together, desperate to prolong his breathing. And then it stops. 

Emptiness gathers in her chest, threatening to collapse her rib cage. She doesn’t feel the rain on her skin or the fatigue in her bones as Poseidon’s blessing fades. Just a hollowness that can only exist in the absence of light.

 _No,_ she decides. _They don’t get to take him from me._

She sits on her heels and links her fingers over his chest. She will bring him back with sheer force of fucking will. 

“I’m not letting you go,” she says as she makes the first compression. “Not when it should’ve been me.” 

Thirty compressions. She tilts back his head, fills his lungs with her own. 

“They don’t get to take you, too. You are _mine_ , Percy Jackson, do you hear me?” 

Her ring glints with each desperate compression. He is going to wait for her at the end of the aisle, not in Elysium. 

The green light from the blessing dies like a warning. Annabeth knows he’s gone, but she refuses to accept it. They let this happen. 

Lightning cracks, illuminating Percy in a shroud of blue light. 

“Bring him back!” she cries at the sky. “Please bring him back to me. We did everything you asked. We fought your wars. Just give us this.”

For the first time all night, the sky is silent. Something in Annabeth snaps, a white-hot fire spilling from her lungs. 

“Bring him back,” she says. A demand. Not a plea. “Or I will march on Olympus myself. What can you do to me that you haven’t already done? I held the sky, I watched my friends die, and I just watched the man I love take a blow meant for me.” 

A little voice, probably reason, tells Annabeth to stand down, that they will smite her for this. But if fatal flaws mean anything, she will go down proud next to her loyal love. 

“You took him from me once!” she screams. “I found him! I will always find him. I am no Orpheus. I will not look back, and I will not fail. I went to _Tartarus_. Hell means _nothing_ to me!” The words tear through her throat, echoing in the New York forest. Annabeth imagines her words bouncing up the hillside all the way to Olympus. “You have brought back heroes for less. Asclepius. Hippolytus. Dionysis. _Thalia_. You let her die here, Zeus! I was there. I remember! Percy asked from nothing but decency, and still you broke your promise. _I am not asking._ You swore on the Styx. You owe him this.”

Lightning strikes the closest tree, and Annabeth fully expects it to crush her until it lands ten feet from where they lay, burning despite the rain. 

Once the shock fades, she understands. They need a sacrifice, but they cannot take Annabeth. Not only would her mother and Poseidon never allow it, but they know Percy would come for them the moment he woke up in her stead. 

Instead, she throws her sword into the fire, followed by both of the Minotaur’s horns. Spoils of war. That should please them. She even throws in her empty emergency ambrosia baggie to show that she has nothing left. 

The world is terribly still; the thrum of rain and crackling fire are white noise in the wake of loss. _He’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone._

Red roses sprout from the ground, growing from seedling to strong-stemmed flower in moments. Little warriors, they fight through the earth and kiss Percy’s body. It’s Aphrodite who breathes life back into him. After all, love was born of the sea. 

Each petal slowly drains of its color, returning to the white it was before the fall of Adonis. The wind whispers, _I too have lost a lover._

Annabeth counts every horrible heartbeat, too afraid to hope in the fear that this is some terrible trick before lightning strikes and her world ends.

“Annabeth.”

That’s all he has to say—those three syllables, always falling so carefully from his mouth—for her to know he’s back. She holds his face in her hands, searches his eyes desperately. Annabeth would look into them forever, if she could.

“Percy,” she sobs, surging forward to steal his first breath into her own lungs as selfish proof. His palm cups her cheek, his fingers gentle in her wet hair—warm, alive, real. They kiss less than they cry into each other’s mouths, but Annabeth wouldn’t change it for the world.

“I’m here,” Percy promises. “You did it. I’m not going anywhere.”

They take a moment to catch their breath, staring at each other like they might melt into the earth if they dare to look away. 

It all catches up with Annabeth at once. Her face hardens, and she presses a bruising kiss to Percy’s lips. Anger bleeds into her tone when she says, “I can’t believe you took that hit.” 

He shrugs. “You’d do the same for me.” 

Annabeth drops her face to his neck and lets his scent fill her nose. On any other day, she might yell at him, but her voice is still hoarse from screaming. Rage has since dissipated into gratitude, but she’s not going to push it.

Percy taps her head and beckons her up, his eyes shining. “Did you just rip the Minotaur apart and threaten to march on Olympus to save my life?” 

“Pretty sure I ruined the next family reunion.” 

Percy just smiles, bright as the sun. “I don’t know, sounds pretty hot to me.” 

“You’re a dork.” 

“You love me.” 

“I do.” She leans in for another kiss and decides this is how she wants to spend her life. The gods could strike her down, and as long as she was never apart from him, she could handle it. As long as they’re together. 

“For the record,” Percy says against her mouth, “I love you too.” 

His breath caresses her lips, reassuring and steady. They’re both still breathing. That’s enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING: I KNOW. I'M SORRY.  
> If you haven't read the myth of Aphrodite, Adonis, and the roses, I recommend it! It was a big inspiration for this fic. For the record, I brought him back, so I'm significantly kinder than Ovid.  
> Special thanks to random-hallucinations on tumblr for the request! For more info, check out my tumblr bio (@bipercabeth) if you're interested in my writing.


End file.
